Heart of a Knight (37 page)

But of all the stir her new gown caused, Tall Mary relished the reaction of John Tyler most. Since the night he'd demanded a kiss, he'd asked no more favors, but the memory of that kiss lay on Mary's senses with a curious intensity, and she'd found herself hoping he might try another.

Instead, he'd only teased and talked with her all the way to London, storing up little jokes to tell her, bringing her extra ale in the nights when they halted, seeing to her comfort in a way she had not ever known. Always it was Mary seeing to the comfort of others.

This night, John Tyler was dressed in his best, a clean black tunic belted with leather, and she thought he looked fine. How had it escaped her notice that he was so largely, neatly built? Aside from Thomas himself, no other man in the hall was taller, and though he had not the hawkishly beautiful features of Thomas, there was nonetheless an honorable sweetness to the wide mobile mouth, and a light of dancing mischief in his clear eyes.

And tonight, when he saw her in her green gown, his face went utterly still, but for the smallest flair of his nostrils, and in his eyes there leapt a light of such deep yearning that Mary found herself laughing.

She moved close to him and inclined her head coquettishly. "I had wondered if you'd ever kiss me again, John Tyler. Will my dress inflame your senses so that you can no more resist?"

His smile was reward enough, blazing and sunny, as uncomplicated as Mary's heart was dark. And he tugged her behind a thick post and kissed her properly.

Lyssa could not seem to catch her breath. She sat nearby the king and queen at the head of the table. At her right sat Thomas. Across from her were Stephen and Margrave, with Isobel between them, and Lyssa did not like the way the two men eyed Thomas, like cats with switching tails, ready to pounce. To her left were David the Bruce, the captive Scots king, and his wife.

There had been one bad moment when Bruce heard Thomas's name, and leaned round Lyssa for a better look at him. "I did not recognize you," he said. "I took a grand stag at Roxburgh a few years ago… why did I think you were younger?"

Only Lyssa would have seen the faint paling of Thomas's face. "I do remember," he said casually. "He gave us a merry chase."

At that the Bruce was off on a glorious retelling of the hunt and the dangers of it. Lyssa gave her attention to her trencher, picking over the food, feeling vaguely nauseous. Next to her, Thomas was rigid.

She dared not look at him.

It was a very fine feast, for Edward took pride in his rich table. Candles burned in gold and silver candlesticks, and there were grand silver ewers and flagons crusted with jewels. Overhead burned a brace of candles, and rushlights cast their flame from the walls, making the hall bright as day. Piles of apricots and figs and plums were piled high on wide platters, and wine from Burgundy and the Rhine flowed into deep cups. Platter after platter of food was served, till Lyssa near burst with eating the exquisitely seasoned dishes—motrews and stews, roast quail and herbed chicken. All around were ladies in the finest of gowns, and jewels winked on fingers and gleamed at throats and cast fire from belts.

Like her dream. The finest of feasts.

"Even I can eat no more," Thomas confided to her after a time, sighing. The danger seemed not to have effected his lusty appetite in the least, and Lyssa cast him a pointed glance.

He shrugged, a smile glittering in his eyes. "I am a big man," he said, and the smile spread to his mouth. "With big appetites."

And for once, Lyssa chose to simply live in the moment. If he were taken from her an hour hence, she would grieve him then, and not a moment before. "Oh, a little more, sir, surely. Look, they have sweets."

"Ah, well, maybe a little." Quietly, he said, "I do not recognize half of what is on this table. This morn-ing the queen told me to eat, but I did not know what to choose. What is that yellowish red fruit?"

"Quinces." She did not care for them, and reached instead for a pomegranate, which she sliced deftly in half with her knife. "These, now, are said to be the fruit of love."

He tasted it and made an approving sound. "The fruit of love, you say?"

"Aye."

With that devastating way he had of teasing her, Thomas put the pomegranate to his mouth and sucked out some of the tiny fruits within the skin, his eyes shining. "Not quite as satisfying as a cherry."

She laughed, and below the table, touched his thigh.

Pages cleared away the remains of the food and the company began to shift into smaller knots, some dancing to the musicians who played in the gallery, some drifting to little groups along the wall, some disappearing to darkened corners for exchanges of a private sort. A chess board was brought out, and the Bruce gestured to Thomas. "Will you play?"

Alarm ran through Lyssa, alarm she kept tamped down as she agreed to change places with the Scots king. Philippa moved close. "What a fine looking man he is," she said quietly of Thomas. "And 'tis plain enough you are in love."

Behind Lyssa, the Bruce said, "Unusual strategy, Roxburgh."

She could not help her fond smile, thinking of Robert's outrage when Thomas had first played chess, using his pawns to such fine and unusual advantage. She met Philippa's kind eye, and realized this was just what the woman meant.

"Am I so plain?" Lyssa said, putting her hands to her hot cheeks. "I do not wish to anger the king."

"Oh, no, child. 'Tis only my own happy eye that sees it. I do believe Edward means to grant your suit. He only wishes to find the best way to appease Harry."

Lyssa touched the spot below her ribs that hurt with anticipation. She felt an urgent need to have this done, and get all of them safely back at Woodell. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man with a plaid drape over his tunic scurry into the hall. She leaned closer to Philippa. "Does the Bruce bring his own men with him?"

"Only one or two." She shrugged.

The man came from behind Thomas to murmur something in the Bruce's ear. The king nodded, and gestured toward Thomas, and at that instant, Lyssa felt a peculiar twist in her gut.

Time slowed, each second stretching the length of an hour, or so it seemed to Lyssa. The man turned toward Thomas, who looked up with a pleasant expression of greeting that shifted before Lyssa's eyes to something cold and hard. Even before the man spoke, she knew.

She knew.

"This is not the lord of Roxburgh," the man said all too clearly. "Sire, do you not remember? This is the huntmaster. He led the
hunt
—do you not remember? You were so taken with his skill you tried to lure him away."

And for Lyssa the world went still and utterly silent as the words rang down the length of the table and all around the room.

The huntmaster.

Thomas raised his eyes and looked only at Lyssa. "My apologies for my deception, my lady," he said soberly.

 21

Proudly, Thomas rose from
his seat into the stunned silence, refusing to lower his head. From his great height, he met the eyes of all who stared: first Lyssa, whose face showed only pale shock. Then Isobel, across the table, whose mouth looked pinched. He disdainfully gazed at the knights who'd so wanted his head: Stephen de Kivelsworthy, who smirked, and Margrave, in his black, who showed no expression at all.

At last he turned to the king and queen of England, finding on Edward's face not the fury he had expected but a curiously measuring expression. "Is it true?" Edward asked.

Thomas straightened. "Aye. I am a bastard of that house, and when all were killed, I simply donned my father's clothes and went out in the world to seek my fortune."

"As if clothes made the man," sneered Stephen.

"Silence," said the king.

Even the music had stopped now, as one by one, the folk in the hall heard the strange news, whispered from one to the other, and all eyes turned toward the extraordinary drama unfolding.

A peasant masquerading as a knight!

"You liar!" came a small, furious voice. "You lied!"

Thomas turned to see Robert standing at his side, looking up at him as if he were the Evil One himself. "I should have known," he sneered, and with a furious gesture, swept all the chess pieces from the board. "Using pawns to take a king!"

Impulsively, Thomas grabbed him. "You'll not disrespect these men, young lord. I may not be your better in birth, but I am still your better in size."

With a cry, Robert pulled away.

"Elizabeth," said the king. "You did not know?"

"She did not, sire," Thomas said before she could answer.

Lyssa lifted her chin. Thomas held his breath, waiting for her to deny him. Praying she would not choose this moment to show some foolish brand of courage.

"I did not always, my lord," she said slowly. "But today I did willingly deceive you."

Edward's mouth went hard. "I am disappointed."

She bowed her head. "Aye, my lord. It was only—"

"No more." Edward rose and for a long moment, stared hard at Thomas. His expression was piercing. "There is much trouble in this land over men of your ilk, Thomas Hunter. And you've been bolder than most. At dawn, I'll have your head, for 'twill send a better message than I could hope to those who would overturn their masters."

Lyssa made a small, choking sound that she tried to cover with one hand.

Stonily, Thomas nodded. "I accept my own fate, my lord, but I beg you do not punish the lady. Twas all my doing."

"Guards!" Edward cried, and pointed to Thomas.

As they came forward to bind him, Thomas looked at Philippa. "Keep her safe, my lady, I beg you."

Before he was led away, he thought he saw a tear in her black eyes.

They parted to let him by, and now Thomas did see tears. Running on Isobel's face, and on Tall Mary's. At the rear of the room stood Alice, who stepped out before the company. "I am his mother. At least let me give him a kiss of farewell."

They halted. Thomas bent for her kiss, and felt her hand in his pocket. "Herbs, son, to hurry you from this life." With a break in her voice, she whispered, "Twas a fight well worth the winning or losing." She kissed his cheek.